


Flowers/Postcards

by emokid6969



Series: Please Come Home [6]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Love, Other, Romance, True Love, post-curse Sam recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emokid6969/pseuds/emokid6969
Summary: Sam is cured. Dean can only remember what Sam was like under the curse. Can newly freed Sam prove to Dean that they're human again? Yes, because true love wins.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Please Come Home [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077776
Kudos: 3





	Flowers/Postcards

**Author's Note:**

> Tamora Pierce has written about a badger god who I suspect might be the same badger god as this one, or a very close sibling.

Sam wakes up from another nightmare. Not a curse-nightmare; just the regular, normal kind where Dean's face fades horribly away, where Dean abandons them to go hunting with other people, the sort that leaves Sam rocketing into awareness and never quite stop shaking.

Sam knows what they said under the curse. They know that Dean doesn't believe it's lifted, and the smaller, crueler fear: that Dean doesn't care, wouldn't love them even if it were.

Sam wants to explain, over and over until Dean holds them folded up in a sleepy embrace, never ever letting go. Sam wants the Impala to carry them everywhere, their hands always on each other, clasped or resting on each other's hearts.

It really is lifted, though: Sam isn't hollow-eyed the way they were before, and even though Dean's conspicuous absence saps all joy from Sam's life, Sam's is still around to feel it. Sam would never, ever wish for the curse back, but being aware of things again, just in time for Dean to leave them -- well. Sam would rather have died than faced Dean's leaving.

But Dean wants Sam to prove that they're still Sam, and Sam does try, even though every step rattles their bruised heart. Even though they don't feel like theirself, aren't really truly theirself, except when Dean's around. It's what love does, and Sam dreams of Dean leaving, over and over, memories and miserable speculation mixed into themselves endlessly.

Look at what Sam has become, thinks Sam to theirself, sad-eyed and barely able to eat. The curse had taken Sam's whole self away, but there was no getting Sam's whole self back while Dean was gone, and yet Dean stayed away, waiting for Sam's whole self to return. For Sam to become as vibrant as they had been when they started hunting with Dean. Sam tries.

The morning is full of trying to survive the night's nightmares; the evenings are full of Sam exhausting theirself in hopes of having the dream that will make Dean realize they were made for each other, they're soulmates, they're forever. Each day Dean doesn't show is another personal hell for Sam, better than anything the yellow-eyed demon could've made for them.

Sam knows the yellow-eyed demon can see them from Hell, knows the yellow-eyed demon is laughing. Still, Sam sheds their dignity swiftly each time it grows, sends another begging text message, hoping always that Dean will read it and understand, will read it and come home.

Sam texts Dean about hunting jobs, buys a time-share in Maine for a house that, if Dean doesn't like, they never have to use. Dean doesn't come to save them; Sam nearly dies many, many times. Still, Sam lives, waiting, feeling out the nerves in their body, reconnecting, trying always to explain: Dean, I'm here. Dean, I'm back. I love you. Dean, they gutted me with a curved knife but I'm in the hospital and all I want is to hold your hand. Dean, nothing could carve me out like the curse, I will never disappear like that again, Dean, please.

Dean hears rumors from other hunters, stories of Sam's evils under the curse, some of them exaggerated by the time they reach Sam, some not. The curse had looked into Sam's heart and found their deepest fears, and said exactly the things that would cause them: it had made Sam tell Dean that they did not really love them. It had made Sam tell Dean that, if they weren't trying to survive the curse, they wouldn't need Dean. And now Sam isn't trying to survive that curse anymore, is just trying to survive, and they need Dean, they have always needed Dean, and every part of them cries out for Dean every moment of their existence.

Sam thinks about Dean's brown eyes, loving and deep, and stays in bed, miserable, in between hunts. A poltergeist haunting a public pool; a spirit of water drowning the people who make wishes into a fountain; a group of Christian nutjobs hunting women. Sam loves, fiercely, even as the emptiness grows, even as longer hours are spent contemplating suicide and then reminding theirself, firmly, that it would hurt Dean, that it isn't an option (but Dean would care, and they would meet in heaven, and it could bring them together, couldn't it? Sam shakes their head at theirself, resolved to live, because Dean wants them to, but the thoughts come creeping back, insidious: a rope, through the door; a shotgun; Sam has trouble eating, and even though things aren't poison the way they were under the curse, there still isn't very much food that Sam can eat before it just feels like fueling the sadness. Sam keeps a journal, makes sure to eat enough calories, makes sure to lift the weights Dean got them four years ago, plays the small guitar that Dean would have played better. Sam's fingers are fragile, the very tips of them uncalloused, and they stop before blisters form, because Dean wouldn't want them to hurt. Dean stays away, waiting for Sam to recover, and Sam stays in that horrible limbo, barely able to breathe.)

Sam prays, atheism and brutal practicality blazing at the forefront of their every wish: please, whoever's listening, anyone who wants to help me, please, show Dean that I'm their true love, make Dean remember that I'm amazing, remind Dean of our perfection together.

A silver badger appears one night, ghostly, and chews off a silver claw, and Dean wraps it in wire and wears it, always.

It's a week before New Year's Eve when Dean shows up, ready to help Sam with the potion that helps their body repair itself from the aftereffects of the curse. Dean is afraid, Sam can tell, and Sam tries to remember what their face looked like under the curse and make expressions that aren't that, but the sadness of Dean's absence combined with overwhelming relief at the sight of Dean make Sam totally unable to tell what their face is even doing, and Dean is affectionate, but distant.

Dean notices the necklace, asks to touch it; Sam could swear that every nerve in their body becomes crammed into that claw as Dean holds it, rubs it, compliments it.

Sam wants Dean to stay, forever, wants Dean to fall asleep with them every night until they die, together, dreaming peacefully. The potion has to be taken on Wednesdays, and it's a Thursday; Sam mentions this, but can't tell if Dean is really listening, can't tell if Dean is just as stuck in the memory of the curse as Sam was cursed. Dean leaves, implies they'll see each other soon.

The next day is Christmas Eve: Sam drives over to Dean's room, asks for Dean to come out and hold them. Dean laughs, turns up the television behind the door, and Sam's heart breaks again and again, waves of despair crashing against each other.

Dean says they need time, and Sam can't tell what that means. New Year's is coming, and all Sam has wanted since the curse is for the curse to be lifted so that they can hold hands with Dean again. Sam prays to the badger god to protect them, to protect Dean, to bring Dean back, to show Dean that Sam is really, truly back.

But Sam's sadness chews around their edges, and Sam knows that the vibrancy of the early hunting years can't be summoned by Sam alone. Sam tries, though; plays the guitar until the sound of it makes them nauseous with palpable Dean-missing. Sits in the library for endless hours, researching every curse possible, making sure that it can never, ever happen again.

Sam writes letters to Dean, tears them up, tries to perfect them, doesn't know how. Sometimes, Sam sends the letters, hoping Dean will read them and see Sam in all of them, understand that Sam is back, they're _back_. Dean's hotel phone is disconnected; all Sam has is the letters, so Sam keeps writing them.

_Dean, I love you. I figured it out: I lifted the curse, I'm back. I ate real food today, and it was hard, but I pretended we were in the car together and you had just run into a grocery store to get it for me. I imagined you tucking my hair behind my ear and watching me carefully to make sure that I ate everything before it went bad. I imagined you showing off for me, sitting in the driver's seat and playing the Taylor with your gorgeous, perfect hands. I imagined us, together, writing down the accounts of our travels, selling our tapes in every hunting bar we can find. Please, Dean. You're my everything. I'm yours forever, I'm myself again_ _, I'm not cursed anymore. Please. I love you._

Sam sometimes sends postcards instead of sealed letters because they love Dean and want everyone to know.

_My love, it snowed today. We've never actually played in it together, and I was hoping you would come by and do it with me. Yours always, Sam_

_My love, it rained again. I don't know what to do with myself in a thunderstorm without you: I try to read, but unless it's about curse-prevention, I can't make myself focus. I wish for you, always. The fairies know._

_My love, the Taylor misses you. I miss you. I sometimes wonder if you want me to play it while you're away, if this will show that I am human again, but music is our shared passion, and I cannot, will not, pursue it without you. Your s_ _ibling_ _, Sam_

_My love, the dragons watched us separate and grieved. They know I am human again, forever free of_ _the curse; they know you have always loved me. Please return. They have promised to throw us the most enormous party. I want to share cake with you._ _Your partner-in-hunting, Sam_

_My love, I am bereft without you. Please come home. Your soulmate, Sam_

_Dean, please. Please. Your lover, Sam. Please._

Sam can't tell if the whimsicality of the postcards, prints of dragons and fairies, Sam's curlicued writing in green pen, is reassuring or terrifying to Dean. Dean sends a letter, printed, handwritingless, that just reads "keep up the good work, Sammy!" and Sam's heart clenches. Sam keeps reading about curses, casts preventative spells now before going into a new library in case of haunted books. Sam tries, for Dean. Always for Dean.

And one day, just before New Year's, Dean knocks softly on Sam's door. "Hey," Dean says. "I miss you. Can I come cuddle?" And Sam is fumbling at the door handle, desperate, "Yes, always," and Dean enters the room, eyes soft, tired but trusting, arms open, and Sam rushes into them, wraps their arms around Dean's waist and holds them, and holds them.

_They stay together forever after that, and they really do make that album. It doesn't sell a lot, but it's good, and they listen to it on the road. And the badger god pads in careful circles, pleased by the music, and pleased by their love._


End file.
